


"Did You Know That A Week Has Seven Personalities?"

by BR_Polkinghorne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Days of the week, F/M, Friday's Weakness, Fuckboy, Lazy Mornings, Monday - Freeform, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Saturday - Freeform, Submissive Character, Sunday - Freeform, Thursday - Freeform, Wednesday, Workaholic, friday - Freeform, religious, rich bitch, tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 00:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BR_Polkinghorne/pseuds/BR_Polkinghorne
Summary: A week in my head starts with Monday...





	"Did You Know That A Week Has Seven Personalities?"

A week in my head starts with Monday; Monday is a self-confessed workaholic and wears a tight grey pant-suit. She wears a pair of black-rimmed spectacles, but she doesn't need them, she simply likes the air of intelligence and authority she gains when wearing them. The other days cannot stand Monday, not only because she is the eldest, but because she makes the rest of the week miserable; if Monday has a bad day, so too are the following days. She is a notorious perfectionist, and pushes her impulsive demands onto the other days; “Have _______ done by Friday, she's not doing anything until after Thursday!” “I need the schedules for the next four days on my desk, Sunday!” She becomes violent as noon passes by, exhausted by the yelling and filing and sorting, but too stubborn and pig-headed to show it to anyone; hence, as a display of how strong she is, she lashes out in sudden fits of rage, often scaring the other days into agreeing to follow the schedules that she designed.

Tuesday usually bears the brunt of her bad moods, and as a result, he can barely stay awake when it becomes his turn to take over. The other days pity Tuesday, but no-one dares try to swap days with him, not after they see how Monday ridicules him for his sloppy week-attire; a coffee-stained dress shirt that is far too big for his small frame, a pair of black woollen slacks, badly mended with patched of grey fabric, and a faded pair of brown leather sandals. And that's only after she's tried to clean his face, ranting about not shaving since last week, all the while trying to make sense of his constant state of bed-head. Too often, Wednesday comes in for her day, only to find Tuesday snoring away, without having gotten a single piece of work done, let alone following Monday's timetable.

Wednesday was a bland girl, but everybody likes her so that was okay. She had thin, stringy brown hair, with two butterfly clips holding back her bangs. Her mud-brown eyes weren't as warm as Friday's, but they were still... kind of pretty. Besides, it's not really her place to complain. She took the spot in the week that no-one else wanted, having to clean up after the abysmal of a day Tuesday was, and dealing with all of Monday's needs, plus all the work that Tuesday didn't complete, before finally starting her own tasks as dusk broke. Thursday was always late, so Wednesday started on her jobs as well. She decided to clean while she waited.

She did this every day after the previous day had left but made sure to always finish before dawn marked the beginning of the next day. You see, Wednesday changed the atmosphere each night, depending on what day it was meant for; Monday's office was spotless and filled with angles and sleek, black, gloss-finished gadgets; Tuesday's was taken up by pillows on the floor and a self-filling espresso machine; her own was a small, quiet space with notebooks and cleaning supplies; Thursday's was a sexy home-office, all bronzes and golds, with a mini-fridge stocked to the brim with white wine; Friday's was a sleek lounge plastered with posters of her favourite bands, and as always, pictures of Saturday; Saturday’s was a decked-out pad, with strobe lights and a bar, speakers lining the floor, and neon coloured day-beds; Sunday's was a plain white room, with an out-dated computer and a thick volume of the Bible being the only materialistic possessions cluttering up the room. Yes, everything was okay...

Thursday arrived long after Wednesday left, strutting in as though she were a model stepping onto the runway. She had bleached-blonde hair and a penchant for all things gold and shiny. Her white Prada tote fell open on the desk, spilling out magazines, make-up compacts, loose change, and about two-dozen credit cards. Her chihuahua, Baby, bounced along behind her, it's pink and gold collar making a constant _chink chink chink_ that annoyed everyone but Thursday to no end. Once noon hit, she thought that she deserved a treat for making it through the first half of the day; she grabbed Baby's leash, her bag and strutted back out, on the warpath in search of new shoes.

Friday always showed up rather early, eager to start the day fresh and get all of her work done before midday, impressing the other days with her dedication, but she soon fell asleep. As the clock struck twelve, she would wake up with another blast of energy, which often lasted until late into the evening. At dusk, Saturday showed up, and the two of them danced and laughed and drank until the dawn came, and Wednesday came to recover the hangover Friday from Saturday's tender, love and never-ending care.

Saturday was an easy-going guy and was immediately liked by everyone. He had curly, sandy-blonde hair and a permanent lop-sided grin on his face. Thursday always referred to him as a “ _spoonful of eye-candy dipped in hot sauce,_ ” but he didn't mean to look the way he did. Wednesday has once made a comment about how his eyes reminded her of the ocean; blue and clear and full of endless possibilities and fun (she'd then blushed and ran away). Most of his fellow days were taken aback by his on-and-off relationship with Friday; they blamed him for her not getting any work done when really, she was the reason his work was always finished before he arrived before her at dusk. He was a devoted party animal and had a disturbingly bad reputation as a playboy, but Saturday could never break his bond with Friday; he'd tried and failed a hundred times, ruining her night, only to beg for a second chance the moment dawn breaks.

His least enthusiastic fan was undoubtedly his identical twin, Sunday. She hated that he was so flippant, laid-back, so god-damn calm and care-free all of the time. It was sickening. It was almost as if he revelled in his abundance of sins; lust, gluttony, greed, and his pride... His pride would be the death of him. “ _And you're envy of him will be the death of you!_ ” Monday's harsh words crept back into Sunday's mind. However, she, Sunday, was a much quieter day; filled with the sound of pre-recorded hymns and sandalwood incense, and the ever-present scent of parchment and ink. She kept her blonde ringlets back and in check with a simple black headband, and wore a dark grey sun-dress, with her treasured rosary hidden beneath her garments, against her pale skin. She left as dusk descended into twilight, and took care to leave the head-space as Monday liked it, but not before she left a modern copy of the New Testament in the top drawer of the older day's desk.

A week in my head starts with Monday...


End file.
